WATCH IT WIGGLE, SEE IT JIGGLE
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Dean Winchester and lime Jell-o have a little disagreement. And Sam must come to the rescue. This is the first story in a new series I'm titling "Hospital Horrors". Some will be funny crack fic, like this one, and some will be more serious. Please enjoy.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Supernatural universe. Really wish I did. I also do not own any of the product known as Jell-o.

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**Watch It Wiggle, See It Jiggle**

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"No."

"C'mon, just take a spoonful and swallow."

"No."

"Dean, I swear to God, if you don't eat that Jell-o . . ."

"N. O."

Sam wearily rubbed a hand over his face, from his forehead right down to the tip of his chin, and stared at his brother's mulish, albeit overly pale, countenance. This argument had commenced the second the patient care technician had placed the small plate on the tray in front of Dean.

"Don't you want to get out of here?" growled Sam.

"Yes."

"Then eat the damn Jell-o!"

"No."

"Gaaahh!" The younger man fisted his hands in his hair, resisting the urge to give it a good yank. If he gave in to the temptation, Sam figured he'd likely be bald in very short order. "Why?"

"It's green."

"Yeah. So?"

"And it moves."

"That's because it's J-E-L-L-O. You know—watch it wiggle, see it jiggle . . ."

Dean blinked sleepily and tore his glassy-eyed gaze away from the quivering green blob on the tray table before him to stare at his brother.

"Sam, it moves!" he shifted around on the bed, trying desperately to get comfortable.

His doctor and all the nurses who came in and out all times of the day and night swore he was getting better—that whatever virus he'd had that made him so deathly ill—was well on its way to being gone. But it didn't feel like it. Dean ached all over, every square inch. He still felt hot and cold at the same time. And his stomach felt like it had been pulled out through his nose, turned inside out, doused in battery acid, and shoved back down his nose in tiny pieces. Just the thought of trying to swallow any of that slimy green shit made his belly cramp and brought back the urge to hurl.

"Oh for crying out loud, it wiggles, it jiggles, quivers, and maybe even shakes, but it's not going to attack you or anything! It. Is. Gelatin. Made from . . . well, whatever they make gelatin from."

"Still not gonna eat it. And you can't make me," he rasped. It was a childish thing to say, meant solely to antagonize Sam, but Dean couldn't help it. Prolonged illness had weakened his defenses and he was feeling decidedly cranky. Beyond cranky in fact. Picking a fight suddenly sounded like a grand idea.

Hearing the dare and not even stopping to think, Sam stalked forward, at once deciding to employ a trick Dean himself had often used on him when he was a kid. Grabbing the spoon, the hunter loaded it with lime Jell-o and held it in front of Dean's mouth. "Open your mouth." When his brother did nothing more than tighten his lips, Sam pinched Dean's nostrils together and waited. With one of Dean's hands hampered by an IV and the other trapped somewhere underneath the blankets, Sam figured he had one shot at getting this to work. When his brother opened his mouth to take a breath, Sam shoved in the laden spoon, delivering a healthy portion of the glistening gelatin.

Dean immediately gagged as the viscous, vile, neon slime filled his mouth. It wasn't like any gelatin he'd ever before had. It tasted horrible—worse than any concoction he'd ever consumed. It coated the inside of his mouth with a metallic-tasting liquid fire. Unwilling and unable to swallow the revolting substance, Dean began to choke, and he forcefully spit the stuff out, not caring that it made a mess of the bed. His stomach cramped and clenched and he curled forward with a gasp.

Seeing his brother's very real distress, Sam quickly realized this was no act. He wrapped a warm, supportive hand around the back of Dean's neck and muttered, "Just breathe. Breathe—that's it," Sam ran his hand up and down his brother's back, "Dammit, I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry. I should never have . . . I just thought you were being . . .

Dean's body finally calmed and he lay back, spent, against the raised head of the bed and pulled the blanket up to his neck as a shiver raced through him. He laid there coughing and wheezing for a few moments.

Sam slumped into the uncomfortable chair he'd practically called home for the last five days that Dean had been in the hospital. "I . . . I shouldn't have done that. I've been so worried. And . . . and when they said they'd put a feeding tube in if you didn't start eating . . . I thought you were just being a pain in the ass. I should have known better." Sam's voice was heavily laden with guilt.

"M-My fault. Kinda dared ya." Dean's voice was nothing more than a tired whisper.

"Look—if I ask them to bring you another flavor of Jell-o or maybe even something else altogether, will you try to eat it? Please? For me?"

Feeling the worry radiating off his younger sibling, Dean nodded. "Yeah. I'll . . . I'll try."

Sam allowed himself a small, relieved smile. "Good. I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

As the tall hunter left the room, Dean's eyes drifted closed. It helped ease the headache he could feel building. Only a few seconds went by, however, when an out-of-place squishy, slithery, slurpy noise had his eyes reluctantly popping back open.

To his astonishment, and no little amount of dismay, the lime green gelatinous mass was moving. Not wiggling. Not jiggling. Moving! What looked like spindly green tentacles were extending over the edges of the plate on which it sat.

Thinking it had to be the last vestiges of fever and sickness snaking its way through his system, Dean closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them again. Unfortunately, the mass of green was still moving. The hunter pressed himself back against the mattress as hard as he could. It was when the blob started to inch its way toward him that he thought to act. Picking up the plate, Dean hurled it at the far wall, watching in satisfaction as the neon green blob splattered into snotty streaks and pinprick globules. The plate landed with a clang, unbroken, on the floor just as Sam walked back in the room.

"What the hell? Dean, I TOLD you I'd get you something else! Why the temper tantrum?"

"It moved!"

Sam groaned. "Dude, we've already had this discussion."

"No! Sammy, I mean it. It moved! It . . . it was like coming toward me."

Worry instantly replaced every drop of irritation. Sam wondered if his brother was having some sort of relapse. He placed a hand on Dean's forehead, ignoring the other man's irritated frown. "You feeling okay?"

"No, still feel like crap. But it has nothing to do with what I saw."

"Uh huh. So you're telling me the Jell-o like attacked you."

Dean huffed out an aggravated sigh. "No. I threw it before it reached me." The _dummy_ at the end of the sentence was clearly implied.

While the Winchester brothers quibbled, the green streaks and globules decorating the wall began to coalesce, pulling inward together and returning to its original form.

"Dean, I'm gonna have the nurse check . . ."

Before Sam could finish his statement, the door opened, admitting a nurse's aide bearing a tray. "All right, Mr. Austin, I hear you were desperate for something other than lime gelatin." She sat the tray down in front of Dean. "I brought you some chicken broth and a couple of crackers. Let's see if that will work for you."

Sam fidgeted, fully expecting her to comment about the mess on the wall. When she failed to say anything, he apologetically said to the young aide, "Yeah, he . . . uhh . . . kinda . . . threw it against the wall . . . we were arguing and . . . well, I'll clean it up. I promise."

The young nurse's aide, Shelly Cramer, looked at the tall man with a quizzical expression on her face. "What do you mean he threw it against the wall? I don't see anything."

Both brothers whipped their heads around to take in the wall which was indeed bare. Their puzzled gazes locked for a moment.

"Uhhh . . ." stuttered Sam, "nevermind . . . I just . . . forget it."

Confused, Shelly looked between the two men and then shrugged. She knew how sick Dean Austin had been and his brother had pretty much exhausted himself staying with Dean all day and night. She figured a little bit of weirdness came with the territory. On her way out of the door, she called over her shoulder, "Now, Mr. Austin, you try to get some of that broth in you."

The second the door was closed, Sam was in motion, his gaze scouring the room. "Holy crap! Where'd it go? You . . . you weren't kidding, were you?"

"How 'bout next time you believe me?" Dean shot a glare at his younger brother and pushed back the covers.

Sam's gaze came to rest on Dean, who was struggling to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Panting with exertion, Dean muttered, "I'm getting the hell up. No way am I laying here when there's some freaky green blob oozing around the room somewhere!"

"Dean, just stay right where you are, dammit! You're in no condition to be up."

Dean ignored him, as he was wont to do, and stood on shaky legs. The sudden change in altitude brought on an overwhelming bout of dizziness that nearly sent him crashing to the floor. Only Sam's supportive hands on his shoulders saved him from that fate.

"Just lay back down. I'll find this damn thing."

Realizing he had no other choice as his body continued to betray him, Dean eased back down on the bed. He reluctantly settled for watching Sam search.

The tall, young hunter went over the room, bathroom, and two small closets from top to bottom without success. Finally, dropping to his hands and knees, he looked under the empty bed first, and then Dean's. "Found it!" Dropping flat on his belly, Sam reached his long arm under the bed in an attempt to grab the blob. "Ahhh—YUCK!"

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . slippery. And I think it tried to . . . uh . . . bite me."

Several more attempts on Sam's part brought about pretty much the same results. The green mass scooted around the room, for the most part remaining just out of reach of his questing hands. The few times he managed to grab it, the blob just oozed its way over and around his fingers, reforming and continuing to inch across the floor.

Frustrated, Sam stood and wiped his slimy hand on the leg of his jeans. He was completely disheveled, his longish hair standing wildly on end.

"I need something. Something to catch it in." His gaze wandered around the room, looking for anything to help him in his cause, but coming up empty.

Dean snapped his fingers. "Pillow case!"

"What?"

"Grab that pillow case. Use it to scoop the freakin' thing up."

Kicking himself for not thinking of it, Sam pulled the case off the pillow and went back to the task of trapping the neon green bubble of possessed goo. A few minutes later, he yelled a triumphant, "Got it!" He straightened and brandished the now-occupied pillow case in his tightly closed fist. The thing inside—whatever it was—twisted, turned, and somersaulted, letting out gravelly sounds that sounded suspiciously like growls as it tried to escape. Sam raised an eyebrow and said, "Salt and burn?"

"Hell yeah. Salt and burn."

"All right. I'll be back then. While I'm gone, YOU lay back down." He watched as his brother for once did as he asked. Sam started for the door. "And drink that chicken broth."

"But it's cold!" Dean whined, just as the door swung closed behind Sam.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

It was more than hour later before Sam finally returned to Dean's hospital room. The minute he cleared the threshold, Dean said, "Where the hell have you been, man?" He eyed Sam up and down, noting his soot-stained face and clothes. "Sammy, you okay?" It was quite evident that Dean had spent his time alone worrying, not resting.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. But, man, you owe me."

"Oh, I do, huh?"

"Yeah. 'Cause, dude, do you know how hard it is to light freakin' GELATIN on fire. Especially _possessed_ gelatin? Let's just say—it ain't easy. Or pretty."

"Hey, I think we should call it even then. YOU tried to make me EAT that possessed gelatin." Dean shuddered as he remembered the awful taste and the feeling of wrongness of that stuff in his mouth.

"Fine. We're even then." Sam grinned. He noticed the chicken broth sitting congealed on Dean's tray. He was about to scold him but stopped—a random and totally ridiculous idea occurring to him.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking . . ."

"Uh oh—everybody duck—Sammy's thinking!"

"Ha ha. You're a comedian. I was thinking—a milkshake sounds good right about now. I think the cafeteria sells them. You want one?"

"Really?" Dean's eyes lit up with pleasure.

"Yes really. How about this—I get an extra large one. We'll share it. If you can keep it down, I'll get you one of your own later."

"Cool. Strawberry?"

Sam couldn't help it, he grinned at his brother's obvious excitement. Dean looked like a sleepy-eyed five-year-old.

"How about we just stick with vanilla?"

"Vanilla? Ahh, c'mon, vanilla sucks."

The younger sibling let his face fold into a disapproving scowl.

Dean sighed, disgruntled. "Vanilla it is."

Sam turned to go. "Think of it this way—right about now anything is better than lime Jell-o."

He ducked just in time to avoid the pillow aimed at his head.

_**FINI**_


End file.
